


The Fourth Dimension

by stjarna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bi!Fitzsimmons, Bisexuality, Bus Kids - Freeform, Despite MCD warning don't write 'dead' character completely off just yet, Dreams, F/F, F/M, Feels, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grief, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Sad, Sappy, SpaceTime, The Fourth Dimension, hopeful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:29:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7522084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma's life has been turned upside down. How does she deal with something that seems to go against her scientific beliefs? Who are the people she relies on when tragedy and the unexpected strike?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you ready for the big day?” she hears him say softly and feels him gently touch her arm.

 “Mmmm,” she mumbles, “not quite yet. Just let me sleep for a few more minutes.”

 “You’ll be so excited, Jemma,” he whispers into her ear, “I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

 “Her?” she asks sleepily.

 “Oh, bloody hell,” he replies, “Now I spoiled it. I’m sorry, Jemma.”

 Jemma smiles as she quietly repeats one word: “Her.”


	2. Chapter 2

Her eyes open abruptly and she sits up in bed. Her heart races as his words are echoing in her ears: _I can’t wait for you to meet her_.

She’s breathing quickly at the memory of her dream: every detail.

 _That’s not how it works. You don’t remember every detail of your dreams. They faint the second you wake up_ , she thinks.

But she remembers every detail, every word, every part of that brief moment of happiness. It felt so real.

A shiver runs through her body as a breeze blows through the half-open window and brushes her naked arms. She looks around the room. It’s empty. No one there but herself. Her eyes fill with tears at the thought.

Then a smile forces itself onto her face at a fleeting thought, a shimmer of hope: she isn’t alone. Slowly she reaches for her stomach and gently her hand slides over the little growing bump.

_Her?_

The bedroom door swings open.

“Are you ready for the big day?” a chipper voice exclaims.


	3. Chapter 3

Daisy is surprised when she sees Jemma’s shocked face. She could have sworn Jemma had been smiling when Daisy caught a first glimpse of her as she opened the door. Now her eyes are wide open, staring at Daisy as if she had seen a ghost.

 _Maybe I sounded too cheerful_ , Daisy thinks.

Ever since Jemma told her about the pregnancy, Daisy had been determined to spin it into something positive, to spread joy, to try and bring a smile to her best friend’s face. She had to do it. For herself as much as for Jemma. They had been through so much. Too much. Everything around them seemed dangerous and dark. Daisy had enough of it. She needed something good and this baby was her safety, their safety, a shelter from the storm brewing around them. It was a lot to put onto Little Monkey’s shoulders to save them all from the bitterness that had filled their hearts, but Daisy needed the baby to carry that load at least for a while.

He wasn’t gone. Not completely. His smile, his eyes, his nose, mouth, curly hair, the baby was bound to have some of it, and it would bring back some happiness.

So, Daisy stayed determined, positive, and spread joy. But deep down, she knew that even though Jemma tried to be receptive to her cheerful arguments, even though she was happy about this baby—no matter how shocked she had initially been at the unexpected realization—Jemma’s mind and heart were being torn apart. Every moment of happiness this baby brought would always be tinted by the fact that its father wasn’t there to share the joy.

Daisy had taken it upon herself to ensure that they would _focus_ on the joy, on the happiness, on the hope. That the tinted darkness of Fitz’s loss would fade away to the highest degree possible. Sometimes Daisy went overboard in her attempts to be helpful, joyful, chipper.

“Good gosh, Daisy!” Jemma’s voice lets Daisy snap out of her own thoughts, “You startled me!”

There’s something in Jemma’s tone, an uncertain tremble in her words, that makes Daisy think that it wasn’t just being startled that brought a shocked expression to her face.

Daisy knows it’s best to let Jemma open up at her own pace. She decides to take the _You startled me_ story at face value … for now.

“Sorry,” Daisy apologizes, “That wasn’t my intention. Guess I’m just so excited.”

“I would never have guessed,” Jemma replies jokingly as she gets out of bed.

She stretches and yawns, then rubs the sleep out of her eyes… _or the memory of a bad dream_? Daisy wonders.

“Aren’t you excited?” Daisy asks, “Boy or girl? You said you wanted to find out, right?”

“Well, yes, of course,” Jemma mumbles absentmindedly as she rummages through her drawers for clothes. She never looks up. And her tone. Something about her tone.

“You okay?” Daisy finally asks as the concern for her friend grows.

Jemma turns around to face Daisy.

“Yes,” she says almost nervously, “yes, I’m fine. Still a bit sleepy, and well, you could have knocked before barging in. It _really_ startled me. I’m fine. I need to get ready. Shower. I’m sorry.”

She smiles apologetically, but it seems forced. Daisy sighs quietly, realizing that Jemma won’t tell her what’s wrong at this point.

“Yeah,” she says, “of course. Sorry again about that. You get ready. I’ll be downstairs. … I’ll make some tea.”

“Oh gosh, please don’t!” Jemma exclaims. This time her voice is normal, not hiding anything.

“Was it really that bad?” Daisy asks doubtingly.

“No, no,” Jemma replies unconvincingly—the second _no_ spoken with a noticeably lower voice, “Well… you _mean_ well, but… it just…”

“Fine,” Daisy gives in, “I’ll let you make your own tea, British weirdo. But at least I’ll get the food going.”

Jemma smiles, a sincere smile this time.

“Excellent,” she says, “I won’t be long. Wouldn’t want to be late for the appointment. Ready for the big day!”

The slightly trembling tone returns to her voice as she speaks the last sentence and her smile fades.

“Ready for the big day,” Daisy repeats but she sounds less chipper than when she first came into the room. She turns around and closes the door behind herself. She stops for a moment and takes a deep breath. Her vision is slightly blurred. She wipes the tears away that have crept to the surface.

 _Happy. Be happy. Be positive. For her. Your best friend needs this_ , Daisy thinks and repeats the words like a mantra.


	4. Chapter 4

They’re sitting in the waiting area at the midwives’ office; a white sterile room with feeble attempts of adding some warmth by hanging up a couple of landscape photographs. Jemma is staring at one of the photographs: the Mediterranean, shimmering blue water, blue skies, a sandy beach. She takes in the scene without really seeing it. Stares at it for the sake of staring at something. She feels Daisy’s concerned look on her, but ignores it. Her mind is occupied with the dream from this morning. Of course, she had dreamt of him before, but this time had been different; his voice, his touch, it all seemed so real.

 _A dream. Just a dream_ , she tells herself, _just forget about it, Jemma. The dream doesn’t mean anything. The dream didn’t reveal anything. It was a dream. Just a dream. You’re about to find out the sex of your baby. And if Little Monkey is a girl, it’ll be pure coincidence._

Little Monkey. It seemed like the natural choice for a nickname. Of course Mack had come up with it.

But she couldn’t shake the thought. The _What if_.

 _Maybe I should ask the midwife about it?_ Jemma thinks, _But what could she tell me that I don’t already know? After all, my scientific knowledge goes far beyond my own area of expertise._

 _Oh, good_ , she thinks angrily, _you sound like a snobbish, toffee-nosed smart-arse_.

No, it didn’t make sense. It was a dream. Just a dream.

“Jemma?”

The loud voice of the nurse lets Jemma snap back into reality just as she has made up her mind. She looks over to the short, stout woman holding a clipboard and stands up from her seat. Daisy next to her jumps up as well.

“Would you mind if I went in alone, Daisy?” Jemma asks shyly. She’s not even sure where those words are coming from.

“Oh,” Daisy mumbles surprised, “Of course.”

Jemma looks at Daisy’s face. Her friend can’t hide her disappointment.

“It’s fine. I’ll wait here,” Daisy says unconvincingly and plops herself back onto the chair, grabbing a magazine.

 _You’ve asked her to come along to every appointment_ , Jemma thinks, _She was in the room with you every single time. She’s your best friend. She’s always there for you. She won’t think you’re crazy. … At least she won’t tell you that you are._

Jemma takes a deep breath.

“You know what,” she says, “I’ve changed my mind. The pregnant are allowed to do that. Isn’t that what everyone says? Please, come with me.”

“You sure?” Daisy asks as she slowly puts the magazine back on the table, almost dropping it to the floor not paying attention to what she’s doing.

“Yes,” Jemma smiles, “Absolutely!”

Daisy smiles back and gets up.

“Sorry for the delay,” Jemma says to the nurse, who has been waiting patiently, clipboard in hand.

“Not a problem,” the woman replies, smiling kindly.


	5. Chapter 5

“Melissa will be right with you,” the nurse says and closes the door behind her.

Daisy stares at the door for a few more moments, while Jemma looks around the room. It is equipped with an examination table with extendable stirrups for ob/gyn exams, medical equipment, the ultrasound machine, a little TV screen to show the images from the ultrasound, a desk, a computer, gloves, chairs, pamphlets. Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything as usual. Your standard, run-of-the-mill ob/gyn examination room.

Of course she could have had access to a medical team with superior equipment at the base. They could have run all the necessary tests, do the ultrasounds. Gosh, even she herself had most of the necessary medical background. But she decided against it. She had already distanced herself more and more from S.H.I.E.L.D. in the weeks after Fitz’s death. She wanted to get away from the pain, from the constant reminder of danger lurking around every corner, the constant threat of death and violence in her line of work. She longed for some kind of peace, some kind of tranquility.

She was shocked when she finally realized that she was pregnant; sank to the floor when the test she ran in the middle of the night at the lab gave her a positive result. Resting her back against the workbench, she pulled her knees close, hugging herself and sobbing silently. The thought of being a mother had never occurred to her. She was a scientist. Breastfeeding? Baby bottles? Prams? Changing nappies? People had always told her there was no room for such things in the world of a female scientist who wanted to be successful. And she had never longed for it. She and Fitz had never even talked about it. Not once. Jemma was sure the thought had crossed his mind about as often as hers. They were scientists. But there she was: pregnant with the man she loved gone.

She was shocked. Unsure what to do at first, but as reality sank in over the next few days—as her mind kept going back to what it all meant, what she wanted to do—she realized that _not_ having this baby was not an option. She wanted it. The thought made her happy; happy and sad at the same time. Finding out she was pregnant was the last straw she needed. It became her ticket to leave.

First she told Daisy, who stood by her side when she told the others. She was afraid of their reaction: a pregnancy, her wanting to leave, everything at once.

But her news had a very different effect. For the first time in weeks, everyone seemed to be smiling at her. They hugged her—some with happy tears in their eyes—congratulated her, told her they understood her decision, mumbled something about becoming honorary aunts and uncles. Mack even made a joke about Grandpa Coulson and Grandma May, but was silenced instantly by the daggers shooting from May’s eyes. Their happiness made it easier to close the door to the base on her final day.

Normalcy awaited her: a normal, little house in a normal, quiet town, medical care by a midwife, a fake story of a husband who had tragically died in a car accident. She wanted this kind of normalcy. Wanted peace and quiet.

But it became too quiet. She was alone with her thoughts, her memories, her fears, her nightmares.

When Daisy paid her an unexpected visit a week after she left, Jemma threw her arms around her surprised friend and broke down crying. Daisy hadn’t left since and nobody had asked her to return to the base. It was good to have her around. Someone to talk to and to be silent with. Daisy was good at both.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Daisy’s voice startles her, “You’ve been awfully quiet today.”

Jemma sighs.

“I just have a lot of thoughts running through my head today,” she admits, “But I’ll be fine. … I’m fine.”

Daisy reaches over and grabs Jemma’s hand, squeezing it gently. Jemma smiles. It was comforting to know that her friend cared so much, that she could rely on her for strength and support.

There’s a gentle knock on the door before it opens slowly.

Daisy lets go of Jemma’s hand.

A slim, athletic woman with curly dark hair and a wide, friendly smile comes in.

“Hey there, Jemma, Daisy,” she says and shakes their hands, “Good to see you again. How has pregnancy been treating you since your last visit?”

Jemma smiles as the midwife sits down in front of the computer and types in her password. Melissa was her favorite midwife. They had all been wonderful and kind, but something about Melissa allowed her to relax and open up to an even greater extent. No pregnancy question seemed too stupid for her.

“I really can’t complain too much,” Jemma says, “although the baby has been moving around _a lot_.”

“A squirmy Little Monkey,” Melissa jokes and quickly types a few notes into Jemma’s file on her screen, “Yep, it’ll get busier and busier in there from here on out.”

“It’s a bit of a strange feeling sometimes,” Jemma admits, “but nice,” she adds quickly.

“I think it’s the coolest and freakiest thing ever,” Daisy chimes in.

“Yeah, well, you’re not the one whose organs—particularly whose bladder—are being tickled,” Melissa teases her.

The three women laugh.

“So,” Melissa begins. She crosses her legs and swivels her office chair to face Jemma and Daisy, “It’s the big day today, right? We’re going to take an extra good look at Little Monkey. Do you want to find out the sex of the baby, too?”

Jemma takes a deep breath as if to make sure she was still able to.

“I thought you said you wanted to?” Daisy asks surprised. Of course she had noticed Jemma’s hesitation.

Jemma looks at her nervously, “I did,” she says, “I mean… I don’t know.”

She sighs and looks at her hands nervously playing with each other as if she had no control over them.

“Well,” Melissa chimes in, “There’s certainly nothing wrong with _not_ finding out. Plenty of people do that. Let it be a surprise.”

“That’s not it,” Jemma admits quietly, still staring at her restless hands.

“Jemma?” Daisy whispers, “Please, tell us what’s wrong.”

Jemma feels her eyes flutter, as nervous tears make their way to the surface. She squints and takes a deep breath. Tries to push anxiety aside. She opens her eyes, lifts her head and briefly looks at Daisy, before turning to Melissa.

“May I ask you a question?” she says.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Melissa replies.

“Well, it’s a bit of a strange question, I’m afraid,” Jemma admits nervously.

“Still. What I’m here for,” Melissa says without hesitation, a soft, encouraging smile brightening her face. Jemma takes another deep breath. She feels Daisy’s eyes burning impatient holes into her back.

“Have you ever…” Jemma begins and immediately pauses. Her eyes nervously wonder around the room as she continues, determined not to look at Melissa or Daisy directly, “Have you ever heard of a pregnant woman who… who… dreamt—I mean, as if it was real—of someone… someone important who … who was… well… not there anymore… in real life. Someone, who told that woman something about her baby… in the dream?”

Her eyes stop wondering and fixate on her hands once more.

“Fitz?” Daisy says quietly, barely above a whisper. Jemma doesn’t reply. She closes her eyes for a moment, remembering his soft voice from this morning, the gentle touch of his hand.

Without giving Melissa a chance to reply, Jemma starts talking again, mumbling to herself, “Well, of course I would dream of him. It’s only natural. It’s a dream and I miss him and that’s what dreams are sometimes for, isn’t it? To show us what we want? Our subconscious talking to us. It was a dream. Just a stupid dream.”

She pauses. Her eyes fill with tears.

It wasn’t fair. That it had felt so real.

She’s trying to fight them, keep them in check, but one escapes. One tear slowly glides down her cheek and makes way for more. Jemma keeps her eyes closed, as if it would allow her to disappear, to forget what an idiot she had just made of herself with her silly question. A hand touches her knee, but she keeps her eyes closed.

“Jemma,” Melissa’s says softly, “Yes, it is natural that you would dream of your husband. And dreams can be very realistic at times. … But, I want to answer your initial question: Yes. I’ve heard of that.”

Jemma slowly opens her eyes and looks at Melissa. The midwife appears blurry in front of her, Jemma’s tears clouding her vision.

“A friend of mine is from Iceland. She told me that some women there choose the name of their baby because they dream of someone, like a deceased grandmother or grandfather.”

“Do they _tell_ them to name the kid after them?” Daisy asks curiously, while Jemma just stares absentmindedly, barely hearing her friend’s words.

“I don’t know,” Melissa replies, “But,” she pauses and squeezes Jemma’s knee gently. The sensation allows Jemma to focus on the midwife, “my friend said she dreamt of her great-grandmother while she was pregnant. They had been very close. The woman told her not to worry about her baby. That he was a fighter and strong like a bear. … My friend’s son was born quite a bit prematurely, but he survived. They named in Björn, which means ‘ _bear_ ’ in Icelandic, she told me. He’s five now and quite a handful,” Melissa laughs.

“That’s a cool story,” Jemma hears Daisy say, but Jemma can’t shake her sadness and doubt.

Melissa seems to be reading her face like an open book, because she continues, “Now. This could be pure coincidence. Just a dream, like you said, but it does answer your question, doesn’t it? I’ve heard of it before.”

She pauses and adds, “What did your husband tell you about your baby?”

Jemma swallows, “Its sex. He told me accidentally. He apologized for it.”

“Of course he would,” Daisy smirks.

“I’m a scientist,” Jemma interjects, “I believe in science, and facts, and proof. Not that dreams are true. … It’s so ridiculous!”

Melissa smiles at her, “So, _now_ you’re afraid that if you find out the sex of the baby today and what he told you is _true_ , then the scientific foundation on which your life is built would come tumbling down?”

“Well,” Jemma replies, “That seems a bit overly dramatically put, but, _yes_ , I can’t let a stupid dream make me doubt my scientific thinking. I can’t start believing in dreams and the supernatural. Fitz, of all people, would think I’m an utter moron!”

“The guy who once thought you were cursed? I _think_ he wouldn’t judge you too harshly.” Daisy mumbles quietly, but the other two women ignore her.

“Look, Jemma, I get that,” Melissa replies, “I’m a big fan of science myself. I like facts and proof. But sometimes, I remind myself that many things that we consider proven facts today, things we accept as true, they were considered unexplainable and supernatural in the past. … Yes, maybe dreams are just dreams, our subconscious talking to us and working through things that occupy our mind. Nothing more. But who can say for sure that there isn’t science behind some of these supernatural things—including our dreams—and it’s simply a science we don’t understand yet.”

“So what do I do, if what he said is true?” Jemma asks.

“You either say, ‘coincidence’ and move on, _or_ , you try to figure out if there’s more to it, if there’s some kind of scientific explanation behind it,” Melissa replies, “Boy or girl. The odds are 50/50. It’s not _that_ unlikely that your husband is right, coincidence or not. _But_ , in my opinion, you shouldn’t let that scare you. You _are_ going to find out the sex of the baby, Jemma. Not doing it today—which is an absolutely valid choice, like I said before—is just going to give you a few more months of not knowing. It’s not ‘now or never’. It’s ‘now or later.’”

Jemma lets Melissa’s words sink in:  _now or later_.

“So, Dr. Simmons,” Daisy addresses her friend, “I’m with Melissa on this one. What’s it gonna be? Today or when Little Monkey pops out?”

Jemma looks at the two other women in the room. She lets her hands gently glide over her stomach.

 _My Little Monkey_ , she thinks and smiles.

“Alright,” she finally says confidently, “One full ultrasound check-up, please, including gender reveal.”

“Fuck! I’m so excited, I might pee my pants,” Daisy exclaims.

“Please don’t,” Jemma replies hastily and smiles at her friend.

“I second that,” Melissa chimes in.


	6. Chapter 6

The gel feels cold on her stomach and Jemma’s muscles involuntarily tense up at the sensation. She hears the familiar swooshing sound of the ultrasound over the speakers as Melissa moves the sensor across her stomach, gently pushing it into Jemma’s tummy until Little Monkey comes into view. Melissa clicks a few buttons and a different sound echoes through the room: the baby’s heartbeat, a regular, strong, fast pulse.

Jemma smiles.

“This might be my favorite sound in the world!” Daisy says and reaches for Jemma’s hand.

“I’ve always felt that way, too,” the midwife answers and continues scanning the baby’s body: feet, hands, spine, skull.

“Well, everything looks just right,” she says, “A perfect Little Monkey.”

“Hells yes!” Daisy exclaims, staring at the screen and watching the little hands reach for an imaginary sky. Jemma looks at her friend and laughs. Daisy’s excitement is infectious. Her mind starts wandering for a moment.

 _You’ll be so excited_ , Fitz had said in her dream. He was right about that.

“So, Jemma, decision time,” Melissa says and interrupts Jemma’s thoughts, “Should we try to figure out the baby’s sex?”

“Yes,” Jemma replies, only the slightest hint of hesitation in her voice.

“Alright!” Melissa says and wiggles the ultrasound sensor a few more times over Jemma’s stomach to find the right position. She is quiet for a while, stopping at various points during the procedure, clicking to stop the image from time to time. Jemma’s heart is racing as she sees various parts of her baby moving across the screen. She thinks she catches a glimpse of something; but maybe not. The experienced midwife moves too quickly, even for Jemma’s eyes. She was well versed in human anatomy, an expert in various types of technology, but determining a baby’s sex via ultrasound had never been part of Jemma’s scientific research.

It feels like an eternity of silence, only interrupted by the occasional clicking of Melissa’s mouse. Finally, Melissa freezes the image on the screen at a certain position.

“Alright,” she begins, “Disclaimer first: I never guarantee anything! There’s always room for a bit of error. … That being said, it certainly looks like a little girl monkey to me.”

“A girl,” Jemma’s voice is shaking when she whispers these words. She stares at the black-and-white image of her baby. Tears in her eyes. Daisy squeezes her hand a little tighter, and Jemma knows she won’t have to tell them that Fitz was right. They know.


	7. Chapter 7

Jemma doesn’t say a word on the ride home. She is grateful that Daisy accepts the silence. She stares at the print out of the ultrasound picture in her hand; not the one with the arrow pointing to Little Monkey’s private parts saying “girl”. The one with the baby’s profile: a round belly, tiny feet, a small curved nose, little hands. Jemma touches one of those little hands with her fingers as if it could grab her and pull her into the tranquil black-and-white image.

Absentmindedly, she gets out of the car when Daisy parks in front of the house. Her eyes are fixed onto Little Monkey. Her Little Monkey. Her Little Monkey Girl. A girl.

The house is quiet. And it stays quiet, as if the two women entering absorb sound rather than emanating it. It’s the middle of the day. Yet, Jemma feels drained and tired.

“You wanna lie down?” Daisy asks as if she had read Jemma’s mind.

Jemma looks up from the picture resting in her hands. She nods, but remains frozen to the spot. The faint impulse her mind tries to send to her body to move doesn’t seem to reach its target. Daisy walks over and gently touches Jemma’s hand.

“Come,” she says quietly, “I’ll bring you upstairs.”

A faint smile hushes over Jemma’s face. Her lips mouth a silent ‘Thank you.’

They walk up the stairs to Jemma’s room without saying a word. Jemma sits down on her bed and Daisy bends down to untie her shoes. Jemma doesn’t object. The day had cost her too much energy. Too many thoughts had drained her mind; are still draining it. She’s still holding the ultrasound picture as if it had become a part of her hand. Daisy nudges Jemma gently to make her lie down on the bed. She walks over to the window, opens it halfway to let in fresh air, and draws the curtains. Jemma’s eyes follow her friend as she walks toward the door.

“Alrighty then. Get some rest. See ‘ya later,” Daisy says and smiles. She’s almost out the door, when Jemma finds her own voice again.

“Daisy?”

“Yeah?” Daisy turns around to face her.

“Would you mind keeping me company?”

A smile lights up Daisy’s face.

“That’s a dumb-ass question,” she replies, “Of course!”

Jemma smiles shyly, while Daisy walks over to the bed and lies down next to her. For a while, they just lie there quietly, listening for the outdoor noises: cars driving by, someone working with an electric saw in the distance, an airplane, birds chirping.

“Do you dream of him?” Jemma asks, breaking the silence.

“Lincoln?” Daisy responds, “Yeah, sometimes. But… I mean… They’re just dreams.”

She pauses.

“I think.”

She lets out a little snort.

“Man. Now I know why you’re so freaked out about this.”

Jemma chuckles briefly.

“But that’s different, Jemma,” Daisy says, “Lincoln died two years ago. I’ve had time to process it, to move on. Not that it’s easy, but … getting easier. But you? You lost Fitz barely four months ago … _and_ … you threw an unexpected pregnancy into the mix. I mean that’s a whole different level.”

Her friend’s straightforward remarks, the tone of her voice, make Jemma smile briefly.

“Audrey Nathan, the cellist,” Jemma recalls, “She told me that she sometimes dreamt about Coulson… after Loki killed him… That they were laughing together, and that she woke up feeling like Coulson was watching over her.”

Jemma’s mind is occupied with one thought only: _Was it possible?_

“Do you think it could have really been Coulson… in Audrey’s dreams?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Daisy replies. “Coulson doesn’t really talk about it. Plus, they messed so much with his brain. Replaced his memories. He probably wouldn’t even remember.”

“Right,” Jemma sighs, “And she probably dreamt about him even after he was alive again and she just didn’t know. Dreams. It’s just dreams.”

She doesn’t want to think about how often these words had run through her mind today: _A dream. Just a dream._ Topic-change. She needs to talk about something else.

“Have you talked to him lately?” she asks, “Coulson?”

“Yeah,” Daisy replies, “The other day. Everything’s fine.”

“You know, you can go back, right?” Jemma says. She wishes her voice had sounded a bit more convincing.

“Nah,” Daisy answers, “Not right now. I’m right where I should be; where I wanna be.”

Jemma smiles.

“You’ll need a job eventually,” she says, “You’ll get utterly bored!”

“Hello!” Daisy exclaims jokingly, “Can you say ‘IT specialist’?”

“Oh _really_ , _you_ ’ll work as an IT specialist?” Jemma replies.

“Hell yes. Why not?” Daisy asks.

“You’re capable of so much more!” Jemma sighs.

“Well,” Daisy says, “At least for starters, I’ll find something in the neighborhood. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s not going anywhere.”

Jemma’s smile radiates gratitude.

“How about you?” Daisy interrupts the silence, “Do you think you’ll go back eventually?”

Jemma takes a deep breath.

“I can’t imagine it right now,” she says, “Maybe I could advise one day. … or teach at the Academy? Who knows? It’s too soon to think about it. Right now, I’m preparing for a very different job: Motherhood.”

Gently, her hand glides over her stomach.

“I never thought I’d say something like that,” she chuckles.

She tries to suppress a yawn, but Daisy catches her.

“Alright,” Daisy says sternly, “Naptime!”

“As you wish,” Jemma laughs and shifts around to mold her body into the mattress and blankets.

The outdoor noises lull her to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Sunbeams tickle her face and she opens her eyes.

Fitz is lying next to her. Looking at her. Smiling.

“Isn’t she amazing?” he asks and adds quietly, “I’m so sorry, I spoiled the surprise.”

She smiles back at him.

He reaches over to her. His warm hand gently glides up and down her arm.

“Is this another dream?” she asks not taking her eyes off him.

“Yes. No. Both. Sort of.” he replies.

“Well, that’s a clear-cut answer if I’ve ever heard one,” Jemma jokes.

“It’s the best I’ve got right now,” he replies, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Where are you?” she asks, her tone curious, sad, and worried at the same time. Her hand reaches for his face. She can feel his stubbles roughly against her skin.

“The fourth dimension,” he replies, “I mean, you know that we… well _you_ —3D-people—perceive the fourth dimension as single points in time—past, future, present—but for me, it _really_ is a dimension. I’m experiencing this fourth dimension. I’m exploring space-time. Yes, it’s fixed. It has happened. It is happening. It will happen. It’s all already there. But at the same time it’s … dimensional.”

“That sounds amazing,” Jemma says.

“I don’t know,” Fitz replies seriously, “The weird thing is that, I can’t interact with the other three dimensions anymore. Not really anyways.”

He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. His hand rests on her cheek for a moment.

“Dreams. The subconscious,” he continues, “That was the only way I figured out how to get close to you.”

His eyes seem to glaze over as if his mind is starting to wander elsewhere.

“I didn’t want you to know,” he mumbles quietly, “I wanted you to move on, to heal. But I couldn’t stay away. I wanted to be close to you, _needed_ to be close to you. … I didn’t think you’d be able to tell. But of course you did; probably because I slipped up. I was so excited knowing that you’d find out our baby’s sex.”

She smiles at him. The thought that he wouldn’t know about their baby, that he wouldn’t be there when it was born, when it grew up, it had eaten her from within. But he knew. He was there. He had seen it already. The fourth dimension had allowed him to be a part of it, a part of something she herself hadn’t even experienced yet. It seemed surreal, strange, but not impossible.

“Are there others?” Jemma asks unable to stop her curiosity, her desire to understand it all.

“I think so,” Fitz replies. “Honestly, I can barely understand what’s going on.”

He pauses.

“No, _actually_ ,” he continues, “to be _completely_ honest: I have _no_ bloody clue! I died. I know I died and I’m dead, but at the same time, I’m not.”

“So, there’s life after death?” Jemma ponders.

“Yes,” Fitz says, “I guess. … For all I know, there’ll be an end to fourth-dimension-me and there’ll be a fifth dimension and it’ll just keep going. I know there’s some form of science behind it. I mean the fourth dimension, that’s mathematics, that’s science. There _has_ to be science behind it. It’s just science that goes _way_ over my head… which is annoying to say the least.”

Jemma chuckles. She recalls Melissa’s words: _simply a science we don’t understand yet_.

She sighs.

“So,” she asks, “you can travel through space-time?”

“Sort of,” Fitz tries to explain, “I can’t seem to move further back than the time of my death. And I can’t always control where I’m going. And except for some accidental jumps, I haven’t really dared to move too far into the future… well, what you perceive as future. There’s about two billion unanswered questions.”

“Have you met her?” Jemma asks.

“Teresa?” Fitz replies, “Yes.”

“Teresa?” Jemma smiles, “Is that her name?”

Fitz eyes open wide.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaims, clearly frustrated with himself, “I did it again.”

Then he smiles.

“Yes,” he sighs, “It’s her name. Teresa. Tessa.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jemma says, then adds curiously, “But why do I name her Teresa? I don’t recall having any affinity for that name.”

“I don’t know,” Fitz replies, “Could be some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy: I heard her name in the future. I’m telling you. You’re naming her Teresa because I told you. I’ll hear her name in the future. Circle continues.”

“Right,” Jemma acknowledges, “Can you tell me more about her?”

“I shouldn’t,” Fitz responds.

“Why?” Jemma says confused.

“My own rule,” Fitz explains, “Come on, Jemma. We’ve seen enough—often badly written—Sci-Fi movies and shows about time travel to know that you shouldn’t mess with time. I don’t think I should meddle with it. Maybe accidentally change things. I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right.”

“Oh, for crying out loud. That’s ridiculous,” Jemma interjects, “ _You’ve_ said yourself that it is all fixed! You _can’t_ change it!”

He stares at her for a moment. Then a smile appears on his face, “I’ve missed you telling me off.”

“You’ve already told me her sex _and_ her name,” Jemma pleads, “I don’t need anything specific. Just. Something. … Something that’ll prove that I’m _not_ going crazy and this is actually true and there’s science behind it… even though it goes over our heads.”

He lets out a small laugh.

“Fine,” he says begrudgingly but unable to hide a smile. “She’s got my curly hair, the poor thing, but your smile… and your eyes… well, except that they’re blue.”

“Like yours,” Jemma smiles and her hand reaches for his face as she looks deep into his eyes.

“Suppose so,” Fitz replies, “She’s smart. Incredibly smart.”

“A scientist?” Jemma asks curiously.

“No,” Fitz laughs, “but she’ll go her own path. And you’ll be so proud of her, Jemma. You and Daisy.”

“Daisy?” Jemma asks surprised.

“She’s with you. Always,” Fitz says calmly.

He runs his hand through her hair again and smiles, “Couldn’t imagine anyone better.”

“Are you visiting her, too?” Jemma asks.

“Daisy?”

“Teresa,” Jemma clarifies.

“Right,” Fitz says, “Yes. I have. But to her it’s just dreams. Based on things you’ve told her about me. Pictures she’s seen. Videos. She doesn’t have to know that it’s me visiting her. She doesn’t need me.”

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma exclaims sadly.

“No, Jemma,” Fitz interjects, “It’s alright, really. She has everything she could ask for… And I’ve already seen her grow. I’ve been there. What more could _I_ ask for?”

“Still,” Jemma says quietly and teary-eyed, “I wish I didn’t have to do this alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Fitz replies.

“Maybe not,” she responds, “but I wish I could do it with _you_.”

He chuckles and looks into her eyes.

“I’m here, Jemma. That’s what I wanted to let you know. I’m here, even when I’m not. Remember that. Always remember that. There’s science beyond what we’ve known. And it’s confusing but also … cool.”

“Cool?” Jemma chuckles, “Really? _That’s_ how you describe it?”

He grins, “I’ll leave it up to you to come up with something better.”

She lets her fingers move across his face, touches his eyebrows, his nose, cheeks, his lips.

“I miss you, Fitz,” she says softly.

“I’m here,” he replies, “Remember that.”

He leans over. Jemma closes her eyes. She feels the warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips as he kisses her gently.

 _I’m here, even when I’m not_.

His words echo through her mind.

She opens her eyes and sees Daisy’s face nuzzled into the pillow, her hand rests on Jemma’s.

A breeze blows through the half-open window and brings along the familiar outdoor noises. Daisy’s eyes flutter. She lets out a deep yawn, then twists and stretches.

“Well, that felt pretty good,” Daisy says groggily, “Did you have a good sleep?”

“It was wonderful,” Jemma replies and smiles to herself.


	9. Epilogue

She was born in the early afternoon on a cold winter morning, just a few days after her due date. As luck would have it, Melissa was the midwife on call at the hospital that day. Jemma felt safe in her hands, Daisy by her side.

“You’re cursing more than the woman in labor,” one of the nurses commented on Daisy’s potty-mouth. The remark was enough to allow Jemma to laugh through a particularly strong contraction.

Jemma cried, as she held her little, wrinkly, naked girl for the first time.

“Well, hello there, Little Monkey,” she sobbed happily, “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you.”

She seemed perfect in every respect; born with a full head of hair with the slightest hint of curls. She had Jemma’s eyes, only blue.

“Well, they can change,” the nurse said.

“They won’t,” Jemma replied knowingly.

After the initial check-ups were done, after they had been brought from the birthing suite to their hospital room, Daisy took the tiny, swaddled baby from Jemma.

“Time to rest, Mama Simmons,” she said, her voice full of pride for what her friend had accomplished.

Fitz appeared to Jemma that night. Her dream was an exact replica of reality. He was sitting next to her hospital bed, holding her hand. Daisy holding Teresa in a chair across from them, swaying gently, humming a lullaby.

“You’re amazing,” he said and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“ _She’s_ amazing,” Jemma replied.

“Told you so,” Fitz replied and smiled at her.

She nodded quietly.

“You’re always here. Even when you’re not,” she whispered.

“Exactly,” he said and leaned in for a gentle kiss.

Her eyes opened abruptly as someone opened the door to the hospital room.

“Can we come in to meet the Little Monkey?” Jemma heard Mack’s deep voice before his head popped into the room.

The rest of the team followed him.

Jemma watched amazed as May pushed past Elena, Coulson, and Mack towards Daisy and gently took the little bundle from her.

“She’s beautiful,” May said with a voice so soft and quiet, that Jemma barely recognized it, “What’s her name?”

“Teresa,” Jemma said proudly, “Teresa Fitz-Simmons.”

“That is a beautiful name,” Elena commented.

“Sure is,” Coulson chimed in, “Why Teresa?”

Jemma smiled and said, “I must have heard it somewhere.”

She exchanged looks with Daisy, who grinned back knowingly.

 

* * *

 

 

Fitz was right about everything.

Teresa went her own path.

She didn’t become a scientist. Not like him or Jemma at least.

Languages were her science.

One time, when Daisy and Jemma took her to the playground, she stared in amazement at a father and daughter communicating in sign language, as if their hands were painting magic into the air. She started playing with the little girl, Ruth, and by the end of their play date, Tessa had learned a good 50 signs. Tessa was three at the time.

When Elena and Mack visited with their little baby boy, Tessa, then four, sat by Elena hour after hour and listened as Elena spoke to Emilio in Spanish.

She absorbed languages like a sponge: ASL, Spanish, French, German, some Mandarin.

But she did more. She didn’t just learn the languages. She used them. She helped.

She helped the elderly French tourist who couldn’t find the museum when she was five. She helped the deaf woman at the supermarket when she was six. She helped the distraught Chinese family, rushing into the doctor’s office with their unconscious child, where Jemma and Tessa were waiting for a regular check-up when she was 10.

She wanted to help.

“Her heart is as big as the world,” Coulson once remarked, “Reminds me of someone else.”

She studied social work, used her talent for languages and combined it with her unwavering and boundless desire to help those that needed help.

Jemma was proud of her, like Fitz had said.

 

* * *

 

Jemma accepted a teaching position at the Science and Technology division of S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy when Tessa was six years old.

Every morning, she started her day by stopping in front of the Wall of Valor, the memorial to agents lost in the line of duty.

Every day, her fingers traced the gold-engraved letters: Leopold Fitz.

And every day, she smiled as her fingertips gave a final gentle swoosh over the letter _z_.

Fitz teased her about it during one of his visits.

“You know, you’re acting a little weird, Simmons,” he said as his fingers pretended to write on her arm, imitating her tracing the letter _z_.

“Oh yes,” she replied teasingly, “Coming from a dead man who has _no_ clue how and why he is exploring space-time? Talk about weird.”

Visits. That’s what Jemma simply called it when her eyes opened and Fitz was lying next to her.

They didn’t happen frequently. And neither of them had figured out what exactly was happening, how the science behind it worked.

Jemma couldn’t remember when, but at some point she simply decided to accept these visits, to enjoy them while they lasted.

No one knew about them, except for Daisy. She couldn’t keep anything from Daisy.

 

* * *

 

She was always there, like Fitz had said. Worked in IT for a while and later—when Jemma decided to go back to S.H.I.E.L.D.—as an advisor to Coulson.

Jemma enjoyed Daisy’s company, her support, the chats, the laughter, the silence. She was happy having her best friend right there. Nothing else occurred to her.

It was unexpected.

Jemma had brought a four-year-old Teresa to bed after a long day of playing, laughing, learning. She plopped herself onto the couch next to Daisy, who put down the book she had been reading.

“I think she fell asleep before I even left the room,” Jemma mumbled.

“It was a nice day,” Daisy replied contently.

“It sure was,” Jemma said, yawning wholeheartedly, and resting her head on Daisy’s shoulder, snuggling up close to her. Their hands touched, starting to play with each other as if it was the most normal thing.

“You planning on falling asleep right here?” Daisy asked.

“Seems like a good idea,” Jemma said sleepily and looked up at Daisy.

And what she saw was something else, something more. She leaned closer and gently kissed Daisy.

She pulled back and asked shyly, “Was that okay?”

Daisy smiled and kissed her back. For a while, they just looked at each other.

“Guess it’s been a few years in the making,” Daisy finally broke the silence as her hand gently touched Jemma’s cheek. Jemma suddenly turned her head away and gasped.

“Oh Fitz,” she exclaimed, “I’m such an idiot, aren’t I?”

“ _That_ , I did not expect,” a confused Daisy replied.

Jemma turned back to Daisy.

“Fitz told me,” she said, “When I was pregnant. He _told_ me that you would always be there. And that he couldn’t imagine anyone better.”

She smiled, “I thought he simply meant that you were there… as my friend… but… of course… he knew. … he already knew.”

“So, you think he won’t mind, if…?” Daisy asked.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Jemma said softly and smiled at the woman she loved.

 

* * *

 

“Finally!” she heard his voice and opened her eyes later that same night.

“Well,” Jemma said and smiled, “You _could_ have been a bit less cryptic.”

“And spoil yet another important moment in your life?” he defended himself.

“So, you really don’t mind?” she asked.

“I believe my _exact_ words were ‘Couldn’t. Imagine. Anyone. Better,’” he replied reassuringly.

“You know I love you,” Jemma said, “I always will.”

“Of course I know, Jemma,” he said, “This isn’t about replacing me. I’m pretty much irreplaceable.”

She chuckled as he smirked at her.

“You’re moving on,” he continued, “As you _should_. This is right. You _know_ it’s right. _She_ knows. Everyone does.”

“It just,” she said, “it never occurred to me. I never thought that I…”

“Would fall in love with your best friend?” he said quietly, “It happens. … And at least you didn’t take 10 years like with us,” he added teasingly.

She laughed out loud and slapped him on the arm in protest.

“But I’ve never been in love with…” she pondered.

“You’re in love, Jemma,” he replied, “What’s gender? Doesn’t matter! You’re in love.”

“You’ll still be here, right?” Jemma asked and reached for his arm.

“I told you,” he replied, “Have been here. Am here. Will be here. Fourth-dimension stuff.”

“Right,” she says knowingly, “Pretty cool.”

“Exactly,” he smiled and kissed her, “Pretty cool stuff, Simmons.”


End file.
